


Get Thru This

by teh_gelfling



Series: Unfinished Business [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mechpreg, Multi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5826001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an unfinished work and will probably never be complete. Plotbunnies are such fickle things, as are muses.</p><p>Original prompt can be found at http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=9096926</p><p>If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Get Thru This

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unfinished work and will probably never be complete. Plotbunnies are such fickle things, as are muses.
> 
> Original prompt can be found at http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=9096926
> 
> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

::Decepticons incoming!:: Red Alert's announcement was met with a flurry of activity and comm transmissions.

::How many, Red?:: Prowl asked, all business.

There was a tense moment of silence, then, ::Just... one? Seeker, flying low and slow.:: The Security Director sounded confused.

::Understood. Silverbolt, scramble your team. Do not fire unless fired upon.::

::Roger.::

The comms were alive with chatter as they waited for the Aerialbots to intercept the Seeker. Mechs not in the command centre were trying to find out what was going on.

::I can't raise him on comms,:: Red Alert reported.

Just then the Aerials' tactical channel came alive. ::Holy slag, that's Thundercracker!::

::Thank you, Slingshot. Silverbolt, report.::

::It's Thundercracker like Slinger said, Prowl. He's flying in root mode and he...he looks like scrap. He's taken a  _ lot _ of damage and isn't responding to comms.::

The tactician looked to Prime. ::Silverbolt,:: the Autobot leader said. ::Escort him to the  _ Ark _ . Ratchet will be standing by.::

__________

The blue jet faltered as he set down on the hard-packed ground outside the  _ Ark _ . Unable to keep his feet, he crashed to his knees, jarring his mangled chassis. Ratchet, standing to the side and slightly behind Optimus, uttered a foul curse as he saw the damage.

Thundercracker stayed down, unwilling or unable to rise, painfully aware of the multitude of weapons aimed at him. "Don't shoot!" he cried out, voice hoarse. "For the love of Primus, please don't shoot. I'm carrying!"

At the Seeker's panicked words, nearly all weapons dropped. The rest were lowered at a gesture from the Autobot leader. Ratchet hurried to the flyer's side, already cataloguing and prioritising the wounds.

"Prime," he said, voice scratchy with static and exhaustion. "I request asylum. I can't go back. I  _ won't  _ go back! _ Don't make me go back..." _ His vocaliser's volume dropped dramatically as his expression twisted in anguish. "Not after what  _ he's _ done."

Every Autobot present was taken aback by the Seeker's request, and even more so by his manner. Even Prime's optics widened in surprise. "I find it hard to believe you would leave Starscream, no matter what he's done."

"Star--" he started, deep voice broken and pain-laced. "Starscream is dead. Megatron killed him. Skywarp, too."

"He almost killed  _ you _ ," Ratchet said. "Optimus, he needs immediate attention that I can't give him out here." The medic glanced up at his leader as his hands continued applying emergency patches.

"Of course."

___________

_ Hands on his wings, stroking, massaging, sending shivers down his backstruts. More hands on his chest, fingers dipping into the turbines there. The slick slide of a hot tongue where his cockpit glass meets the metal of his chassis. _

_ Desire pools low, molten heat suffuses his frame. His spark throbs thickly in its chamber, calling to those of his mates. Soft yet firm lips close on his, claiming a sensual kiss. _

_ "Beautiful." _

_ He opens his optics at the voice. The dark face of Starscream gazes down at him, soft smile on his lips, so different from the way he is outside their quarters. "Open for me, love." _

_ His interface panel snaps aside, exposing his straining spike and clenching valve, both slick and shiny with lubricants. _

_ The tri-coloured jet slides his own lubricant-slicked spike against his. White hips buck against red, a deep moan escaping his vocaliser. _

_ A groan just off to the side. He turns his helm to look. Red optics darkened to garnet stare back at him as Skywarp strokes his own spike. _

_ "'Warp..." He sends a pulse of  _ need/want/love _ through their bond, and the black and purple Seeker is there instantly, plundering his mouth feverishly, desperately. Starscream pulls back a moment, watching avidly. _

_ He angles his hips to present his valve to his mate and sends a pulse of  _ lust/love/want/need  _ to the white jet. Optics flaring, Starscream guides himself to the dripping opening, pressing inside in one slow, firm thrust. Skywarp straddles his face, giving him access to his own array while the dark Seeker leans forward to take his spike into his mouth. _

_ Chest plating splits and retracts, sparklight spilling into the room. A sudden flash of purple and Starscream falls forward, spark flaring and going dark as he screams in agony. Another flash penetrates the greying frame of the Decepticon SIC, burrowing into Skywarp's back, fusing struts and compromising his spark chamber from the rear. _

_ Crimson optics glow fiercely in a scowling silver face as the fusion cannon charges again. " _ Traitors _ ," the tyrant barks as he fires one last time. _

Thundercracker jolted awake to a loud, high keening sound. Arms held him fast and voices buzzed around him. He struggled to get free to no avail; whomever had hold of him was strong and had the advantage of leverage.

He gradually became aware of his designation being called, shouted really. The voice sounded nothing like either of his trinemates and he couldn't begin to place it. He opened his optics to see a blur of bright red and he flinched backward, disoriented.

Thought caught up then and he realised that he was the one making all the noise. He cut off his vocaliser, plunging the room into sudden silence.

The arms around him tightened fractionally then loosened. Had he just been... hugged? "Easy now. You're safe." It was the same voice that had been calling him a moment ago. He looked down. White arms with red hands banded around his midsection, below his wings, pinning his arms to his sides.

The mech in front of him was that little pacifist whose name he'd never bothered to learn. That meant the mech behind was...

The demon medic.

The jet began struggling against the medic's hold again. "Primusfraggitall, Thundercracker! Stop fighting! You're going to tear those new welds open again!" A frustrated huff next to his audio. "Your newspark can't survive any more trauma."

Immediately, Thundercracker ceased his escape attempts and sagged in Ratchet's arms. Worry for his newspark flooded his mind. "He's safe?"

"He is now. And surprisingly healthy. There were a couple of times we almost lost you both, but you managed to pull through. How you survived long enough to get here is what I can't figure."

"Had to," he whispered, pain seizing his spark.

"For your sparkling, right. I can understand that." Ratchet released his hold and scooted off the berth, making sure the Seeker wouldn't fall over. "It's still amazing."

A curt nod. "He's all I have left."

____________

Thundercracker returned to the quarters he'd been assigned with a heavy spark. He  _ ached _ for his mates, a yawning emptiness in his spark. The Autobots were being surprisingly understanding; even Cliffjumper barely made any comments. Not that any of that made him any more comfortable around these mechs who up until recently were his mortal enemies.

The Seeker hadn't expected to be welcomed with open arms, and he wasn't disappointed. There may not have been the snide comments he'd anticipated, but the tension and veiled hostility in the Autobot ranks was palpable. While the bots were beginning to accept his presence around the  _ Ark _ , it was a rare occasion when one of them would speak to him. When conversation did happen, it was awkward and stilted and never lasted long. It wasn't like they had much of anything to say to each other.

He settled gingerly on the unclaimed of the too-narrow, pillow-laden berths and looked at the expanse of his wings. The blue was pristine, marked only by the red and white stripes adorning the edges. Now that he was Neutral, he'd requested the Decepticon emblems be stripped before he was released from Medbay, and Ratchet had been only too happy to comply.

No one had tried to convince him to join their cause, for which he was grateful. He had no interest in fighting any more. There was only one mech he wanted dead, and he had a snowball’s chance in the smelter of going up against him in his current weakened state. Pit, he wouldn’t survive even at peak efficiency and repair.

His anger at his former leader brought out his grief anew. There had been many days since the incident when he'd wondered if it was even worth it to keep living. If he let himself extinguish, there was a possibility that he and the newspark would be reunited with Starscream and Skywarp in the Well of All Sparks, if such a thing truly existed. The only thing that kept him from succumbing, though, was the fact that he knew his mates would want their sparkling to have a chance at life.

The Seeker curled up on his side, shuffling his wings so the ends hung off the edge of the berth. He keened his sorrow to the empty room until he heard the outer door to his quarters hiss open.

Prowl had informed him when the room assignation occurred that he would have a roommate, but not the identity of the mech. The scattering of trinkets and mementos on the shelves over the other berth had given no clues, either. He decided he was too tired to care at the moment and remained where he was. He'd find out soon enough.

A quiet shuffling filtered through the berthroom door. Probably the Autobot straightening up the living space, he figured. He was winding down into recharge when the inner door opened. Near-silent footfalls made their way to the other bunk after a brief pause. The berth squeaked a bit as the mech climbed in and arranged himself as carefully as would another Seeker.

"You're still awake." The voice was quiet and subdued, not quite whispering. "You know," it continued after a moment, "I never cared a whit for Starscream. Skywarp either. I've shot all of you out of the sky enough times I lost count. If you'd come here under any other circumstances, I'd still hate you just like all the other 'Cons."

Thundercracker remained silent and unmoving. The Autobot seemed to take it as permission and went on. "I-I can't say I know exactly what you've been through or how you feel. All I know is how I felt when Praxus fell and I lost everything. And that I'm sorry. I guess that's all I was trying to say. I'll-- I'll, ah, let you get some recharge now."

All was quiet for a stretch of undetermined time, neither mech falling into recharge. Then Thundercracker whispered into the silence, “Thank you.”

___________

"Looking good, TC. Your newspark is developing well." Ratchet smiled, prompting a slight brightening of crimson optics and a wan smile from the Seeker. "Go ahead and close up. I'm done."

The medic puttered around, putting tools away and tidying up. "We're going to have to start building his frame soon. You've still got a little while, but we don't want any problems when it's time for him to separate from your spark."

"Who's going to design it? I get the final say in which details go into the actual frame." Thundercracker's expression was intense and tone adamant.

"Of course. I'd take on any mech who said otherwise. And there's no one here on the  _ Ark _ who would be stupid enough to gainsay me. To answer your question, probably Wheeljack--"

The Seeker growled. "And have my sparkling explode? You're insane."

"I've been called worse." He shrugged. "Believe me, 'Jack is one of the best frame designers on Cybertron. Most of his  _ experiments _ blow up because he gets over-excited and isn't as careful as he should be. I've never heard of any of the sparkling frames he's built with any kind of problems."

The former Decepticon still looked extremely wary, but seemed to accept Ratchet's vote of confidence in the engineer. "He needs a Seeker frame. Your mech had better be well-versed in designing them, or he'll have...  _ problems _ ." A black fist clenched, demonstrating exactly what kind of problems would be had.

The CMO turned enough to level a  _ look _ at the jet. "We're both quite familiar with Vosian physiology. And part of my internship was spent in Vos, so anything 'Jack doesn't know, I will." He smiled and laid a red hand on Thundercracker's shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll have a perfect frame for your bitlet."

__________

_ Hands trace intricate patterns on his wings. Shivers run down his backstrut. He onlines his optics, but all is still black. He feels something soft around his helm, covering his optics and shoves the brief feeling of panic down as he senses his mates' proximity and arousal through their bond. _

_ His arms are pinned to the berth by strong hands and he pulls a little to test their grip. Solid. Good. Heat races through his frame, straight to his interface hardware. _

_ Soft murmurs in his audio. Warm kisses moving down his frame. Touch magnified by blindness. Gentle fingers on his panel, tracing seams. _

_ He opens and those fingers begin to slide around the rim of his valve, spreading lubricant. Shudders of pleasure wrack his frame. Two digits slip inside, rubbing along slick, smooth walls. He cries out, unable to maintain silence. A warm chuckle in his audio. _

_ Suddenly, he is in the command centre of the Nemesis. Starscream is arguing vehemently, yet silently, with Megatron once again. Skywarp stands to the side, fidgeting. The huge silver mech is furious. _

_ There is still no sound as the Slagmaker raises his fusion cannon and takes aim directly at his second in command. He fires point blank through the Seeker's chest and although Skywarp is already moving, he is far too late. _

_ The cannon is next aimed in the blue jet's direction, and Skywarp remembers he can teleport. A brief flash of black plating and white chestpiece, then violet energy slams into them both. It shreds wings, mangles chassis. Skywarp's frame is already turning grey as it falls and Thundercracker fires his thrusters and rises away from the tyrant as fast as he is able. _

_ Pain and grief twist his spark as he gazes at the forms of his trinemates and he wants to follow them into oblivion. There is the newspark to protect, though. He retreats from the crashed Decepticon ship instead. _

Optics snapped open, small crimson lights in the dark of the berthroom. Thundercracker forcibly slowed his vents as he shook the dream-memory from his CPU. He didn't want to pull Bluestreak from his recharge just because he'd had a bad memory purge.

"Hey." Blue optics glowed at his berthside and he felt the gunner's gentle hand on his shoulder. "Need to talk? I'm really good at listening. Most people don't think so because I talk a lot, but I can be quiet when I need to."

Unable to speak, the Seeker shook his helm and closed his optics. He didn't want to think about how good it felt to have that comforting touch. Felt like it would dishonour his mates' memory if he admitted it.

A wave of sad curiosity flowed from his sparklet, and he was surprised at the depth of the emotion. He'd been unaware that sparklings not even separated from their carriers could feel like that. He responded with love tempered by sorrow, and the sparklet immediately sent back unadulterated love. He smiled.

Bluestreak grinned. Thundercracker looked at him in confusion. "That's the first time I've ever seen you smile," the young mech explained. "It's nice. You're sure you don't want to talk. Sometimes it helps."

"Bad memory. Not something I want to share."

The grey helm bobbed in acceptance. "Fair enough. I could probably guess, but I won't pry. It's your business. Just--" his baby blue optics fixed on the jet's earnestly. "Just, if you ever  _ want _ to talk, I'll be here."

__________

"How's this?" Wheeljack offered the datapad he'd been tapping at to Thundercracker. The Seeker accepted it and scrolled through the contents, dim red optics focussed intently.

"It looks fine," he said, grudging approval in his tone. "How long will it take before it's ready?"

Vocal indicators flashed a pleased violet. "Shouldn't be too long. We've got parts for the Aerials, so we shouldn't have to fabricate all that much for the frame. The programming will take the longest. We're looking at probably about a month, to make sure there aren't any errors."

"That doesn't give much time between frame completion and Ratchet's estimate on when my sparkling will emerge. What if he comes early?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, but if it happens, Ratch’s already got a spark containment chamber ready to go just in case. We’ve got ya all taken care of, and we’re trying to think of everything before we might need it.” Bright blue optics squinted a grin. “And a lot of it we’re hoping never has to be used.”


End file.
